A Cry from the Capitol
by Hawkmaid
Summary: The young president of Panem has watched the horrors of the uprising and the Dark days and now hungers for revenge on the districts... P.S. I don't own the Hunger Games, I am simply an adoring fan!


I stared off the balcony at the once beautiful capitol city of Panem. The cold wind whipped my loose hair around my face and stung my cheeks with its icy breath. I wrapped my black shawl closer around my hunched shoulders. Here and there around the city, a wisp of smoke rose from the unmanaged flames that still claimed parts of the city. The tallest buildings were scarred with soot and ash and the lower buildings burned and broken. The president's mansion was still intact, but still had not escaped the rebellion without shattered glass and burnt stones.

The rebellion.

A shudder of horror ran up my spine as I remembered the time not long ago when the peaceful world of Panem had fallen apart. Now, the bombs and fire had ceased, and the terror passed, but this broken world would take more time to rebuild than it had to fall apart.

I looked with loathing in the direction of the Districts. The Districts who had rebelled against the capitol. The very same capitol that had given them jobs, homes, and protection since the end of the Great Wars that had shattered the whole planet many years ago.

Tiny snowflakes began to fall from the sky and the wind whipped harder at my black mourning dress. The ungrateful districts had brought the destruction upon themselves. They were the ones who rebelled and had shouted for freedom. Didn't they know that it would end in a disaster, for all people and not just them? They had issued the death warrant of hundreds of thousands of citizens, both friends and enemies, traitors and innocents, without a second thought. And now, where were they? Destroyed, overcome, defeated. The capitol had won, but it wasn't a victory. The districts had lost, but it wasn't a defeat. It was simply the mass downfall of the only safe place left on earth.

Someone knocked at the door to my room. I ignored it. it would only be a bearer of bad news, and anything bad would reach me soon enough, sooner than I wanted it to.

Suddenly, I was overcome with a rage and grief that cannot be described in mere words. I ripped the gun I wore for protection out of its holster at fired from the balcony into empty air. Twelve shots for the twelve ungrateful, murderous, horrible districts of Panem. I threw the gun off the balcony and fell to my knees, sobbing. I was too late to save the districts, too late to stop the destruction of the country that was in my care, too late to stop the disappearance of my poor, helpless children.

That horrible night replayed in my mind. The dark, the fire, racing for the shelter, calling for my children. I still felt the fear and terror of that night when I looked behind and saw the last of my daughter being forced into a rebel plane and flown off. I still could hear her cries for her mother. She was only twelve and the boy was only just eighteen. They were both gone now. No sign of them since the official ceasefire was declared by the rebels. I knew in my head that they were gone, though my heart yearned for the hope that they still lived.

I forced myself to stand and wipe the tears from my eyes. the rebels needed punished. They had known that my children could still live, but they had killed them anyways.

My dear children, I couldn't save you. What would I have done if I could but see you alive? I would have gladly gone into the fiercest of fighting, the worst of the famine, the most desolate of places to save them from where they had gone.

At that moment, an idea flew into my head. A reaping, a reaping of children. One boy and one girl from each district between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Twenty-four tributes to die every year.

The less desperate and vengeful side of my head told me that this was too extreme. Okay then, one tribute would win and bring hope to their district. Enough hope to keep the people of Panem content but not enough to bring about an uprising. The details became clearer in my head. They would fight in a designated place, purposefully the most desolate, horrible places we could find, and the last one surviving would be the victor.

I quickly turned on my heel sat at my desk, writing down the details. It would be a celebration in honor of the capitols victory and a show to prove that the districts were under the capitols complete control. This would be a game, a game in which there could be only one victor. A game that would represent the children that the rebellion had taken from me, and the horror I would have been more than willing to endure if they could still be alive.

This was my personal revenge. A vengeance that would bring about the worst pain and the worst suffering that I had endured and replay it year after year. These games would satisfy my desperate hunger for revenge.

 _Yes_. I thought _._

 _Let the Hunger Games be brought to life…_


End file.
